Donatello
and a writing exercise on letting go
I’ve been wading through some deeply challenging times and stumbled across a writing exercise that piqued my curiosity. I was listening to the Huberman podcast from November 20, 2023.
Dr. Andrew Huberman speaks in length on a technique discovered by Dr. James Pennebaker. In a nutshell, you write for 15–30 minutes without stopping about your deepest emotions concerning your life's most traumatic or stressful experience for four consecutive days.
I decided to give it a try, and in my case, I wrote about two different moments. You describe what happened, and how it made you feel then and now. You consider how this has shaped you into the person you have become.
The key is to do this same exercise four times, four consecutive days, or once a week. I found it was too emotional to do each day, so I opted to squeeze the four writings into a two-week period. I didn’t reread any of it until I completed the fourth time.
What I noticed was by the third time, it was becoming tedious to relive such trauma, and instead of being incredibly emotional, it was feeling more like a chore. I was eager to get the fourth writing past me. I also noticed that the one experience I thought was the most traumatic had fewer negative words than the other experience I described, which was very eye-opening.
I circled all the negative words, counted them up, and realized by the fourth writing experience that the number had decreased. I underlined any words that could be considered slightly positive and counted them as well. These increased.
Putting pen to paper without stopping and knowing this was for my eyes only, was cathartic, to say the least. After completing the exercise and counting the words, I ripped out the pages and tossed them in the fire.
I had confronted things I would never tell a soul and was no longer carrying them. I let it all go. The memories do not magically disappear, but they are no longer overwhelming, and I feel (almost) free from them.
I was surprised at how a simple exercise could make such a difference. I’ll admit, I was skeptical, although the Huberman podcast hammered home how all of this is backed by research and scientific studies. All I can speak for is my own experience, and it honestly did help.
Thanks Huberman!
So why Donatello?
Other things have helped recently, such as:
Taking a short trip with a friend to discover a new town, visiting an art museum, and staring at one piece of art that spoke to me in the Palais des Beaux-Arts in Lille: Donatello’s low-relief sculpture, ‘The Feast of Herod’ circa 1435.
This is a lesser-known panel by the famous early Renaissance sculptor created for the powerful Florentine Medici family carved in Carrera marble and is only 44cm x 65 cm. Donatello was particularly interested in the use of perspective, and this piece is astonishing because it is carved in such a shallow depth of a mere centimeter.
Donatello exceptionally portrays two scenes. King Herod Antipas is celebrating his birthday before his court and is married to Herodias who has divorced his half-brother. On the right, we witness the dramatic way young Salome, daughter of Herodias, dances for Herod Antipas who is both her stepfather and great uncle, resulting in him offering her anything her heart desires.
“He also swore to her, ‘Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half my kingdom’” (Mark 6:23)
Prompted by her mother, Herodias, the young Salome asks for the head of John the Baptist, who has condemned the marriage between Herod Antipas and Herodias as a transgression. The reluctant Herod Antipas, who tried to protect John the Baptist, fulfills his promise, and on the left, we witness Salome’s revulsion and horror at receiving the head at the king’s table of her own fault.
This is Donatello’s version of the biblical story, whereas other artists have portrayed Salome serving up the head on a platter, showing no remorse. Donatello’s version delves into human psychology and emotions as he rewrites the story of Salome confronting the tragedy she has caused.
Herod has ordered an act he is sickened by. Donatello conveys temptation, tragedy, regret, loss, guilt, revenge, death, as well as, the incredible illusion of depth on a small slab of marble.
If you’re wondering what Donatello has to do with a writing exercise on trauma healing, I tried hard to weave them together. Hélas, I admit it didn’t work so well. While not Donatello, Salome, or Herod, we share deep human emotions, and stories remind us of our common humanity.
I am full of gratitude for the great artists who have walked this earth and the treasures they have given to the world. Both seeing this small relief sculpture and doing the writing exercise described by Huberman has affected me deeply in recent days.
We each have gifts to share, and each of us affects the lives of others. Sitting alone by the fire on December 31 and having the gift of being able to read others sharing their soul is uplifting and a reminder of our fragile humanity in these dark times.
I opened the curtains to a day of rain and wind and swiftly closed them back. With so much grief and suffering, how we get through it may be by being vulnerable and honest.
The articles that touch me the most here on Medium are the ones that speak of vulnerability, like the recent poem by Zivah Avraham called “Iridescent” https://medium.com/the-taoist-online/iridescent-7b20add2fbc3 and a recent article by Yana Bostongirl called “You are Beautiful to Me”https://medium.com/the-taoist-online/you-are-beautiful-to-me-f5f0ed570986
Thank you for sharing deep love and loss and spilling self-doubt onto the page. If you read this, I encourage you to be vulnerable and try the writing exercise described in detail in the podcast, or go further and post something for us on Medium. We can lift each other up and celebrate our fragility.
Wishing everyone peace and good health in 2024. Much love.
